peevish mama

And I’m tickled pink about it. Actually, he doesn’t call her a nemesis. His term is rival. A piano rival to be specific. I only just got wind of this rival a couple days ago, but he talks about her with the blasé resignation of a life long fact. As in, oh ya, my piano rival, yawn. Who knew you could even have a piano rival? I mean, piano is not typically a competitive undertaking; it just doesn’t seem to have the requisite head-to-headness for rivalry. Plus the students only see each other twice a year at recitals. But what do I know? From what I have been able glean, her name is Sasha, she is his age, she goes to another school and they have been plonking through the piano books neck-in-neck. I think his teacher has been stoking the rivalry and it’s a genius manoever because he’s been practicing a ton lately without reminders. The other day I took a seat to listen for a little while and he muttered Amy says I’m ahead of my rival as he tried to sight read a Christmas tune. Well done, Teach! Well done!

And you know what’s even better than bestowing him with his very own rival? His teacher has them playing a duet in the upcoming recital! Hoooweee, are sparks gonna fly at that nursing home! Watch out, old folks, the rivals are laying down their weapons and coming together for the love of music for one night only! Don’t miss this spectacular, unforgettable showdown. It’s a performance of a lifetime! Talk about drama. I am all a’dither.

I can just picture how it’s gonna go down and I can’t wait. The air is thick with tension. A florescent light flickers casting a sickly glow over the large hall where the residents of the nursing home have been brought for a holiday concert. Two skinny nine year olds glare at each other from across the room. At a nod from their teacher they begin to approach the piano, their eyes narrowed and their piano books tucked in the crook of their arms, matching each other step for step like two gunslingers. Agitated whispers ripple through the room like an electrical current. An old woman gasps in the corner. When they reach the piano they pause, breaking their focus to look over the crowd. A roomful of elderly people stare back at them, mouths agape. The rivals look at each other again and then turn to take in the tiny expanse of the bench. Each sighs a small unperceptible sigh before sliding in and sitting shoulder to shoulder. Their blond heads bob in unison as they silently count together one and two and . . .